


A Bunch of Flowers

by toyhto



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Arthur's mother likes Eames, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, with a hint of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23609014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: This is a workplace romance. Kind of.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 156





	A Bunch of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> The working title for this story was 'Assassins on the Road'. This is loosely inspired by the prompt on a [Daily AU Prompts](https://dailyau.tumblr.com/post/614935447453450240/we-have-always-been-enemies-but-you-found-out-that) that said _We have always been enemies but you found out that someone else attacked me and went bezerk AU_. And I feel like I should say, don't do this at home, kids. Don't be hitmen. It's a morally dubious career choice.
> 
> You can say hi to me on [tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)!

Arthur hated the place. Well, he hated most places, but this one was more than averagely awful in its own way. He was in a small motel at the side of the highway somewhere in Texas, and he hated Texas. He had once fallen in love in Texas and would probably never forgive the state. Also, it was too fucking hot in here at this time of a year.  
  
He woke up too early in the morning with mild headache and his skin damp with sweat, and rolled onto his side. Then he blinked. There was a folded piece of paper on the floor. Someone had clearly slipped it under the door while he had been sleeping, which was kind of bad, because no one was supposed to know he was here.  
  
He took his gun and went to pick up the note. It was handwritten on a grip paper. _Someone’s trying to kill you_ , it said, and then, _E._  
  
Arthur stared at the note for a moment. So, Eames was around. That was unfortunate, because he hated Eames as much as you can hate someone you’ve never actually talked with. But Eames kept messing up with Arthur’s jobs. For at least three times, they had had the same target and Eames had finished the job before Arthur could. It was fucking annoying. But what was even more annoying was that he was pretty sure Eames had been following him for some time now. He had noticed it a little after the Cobol job had gone wrong. So, yeah, he knew someone was trying to kill him, he just had supposed it was Eames.  
  
He packed his things and left the motel without breakfast. He would have to stop at a gas station anyway.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He drove until midday and then stopped at a cafeteria that only had cheeseburgers. He ordered a cheeseburger and got more than a little surprised when a man in a wrinkled out-fashioned suit sat down at his table.  
  
“Hello,” Eames said. “Did you get my note?”  
  
“What the actual fuck?” Arthur said. That was so impolite. He was waiting for his lunch. If Eames was going to shoot him, at least the man should have had enough manners to do it in the parking lot and not in the cafeteria. And certainly _not before lunch._  
  
Eames shrugged. He looked older than in the pictures. And he smelled good. “What did you order?”  
  
“A cheeseburger,” Arthur said. Now that he thought about it, it was slightly improbable that Eames would shoot him here and now. Eames was supposed to a professional, after all. He had been stealing Arthur’s jobs for _ages._  
  
“Didn’t think you’d be a cheeseburger man,” Eames said, looking a little disappointed. Then he grabbed the menu on the table. “I’ll have… a cheeseburger, apparently.”  
  
“You think you’re staying?”  
  
“Oh, well, thank you for asking, I’d very much like to,” Eames said and then waved at the waitress. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and stared, and Eames asked for a cheeseburger and a large Coca-Cola and then smiled at him. He had crooked teeth, which was kind of comforting, because despite the state of his clothing he was annoyingly attractive.  
  
Arthur swallowed. Maybe that was what Eames’ targets thought just before he shot them in the heart.  
  
“So, how have you been?” Eames asked, leaning his elbows against the table and resting his chin on his hands. “Alive, it seems?”  
  
Arthur blinked. He was alive, but otherwise things were shit and had been a long while. He had even begun thinking about finding another job. His mother always said he should get a flower shop. “I got your note.”  
  
Something shifted in Eames’ eyes. “Great. I thought about putting _kiss and hugs_ in the end but you seem like a man who doesn’t do that before the third date.”  
  
“I thought you were going to kill me,” Arthur said, tilting his head to the side. “You’ve been following me since Iowa.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames said slowly. “Don’t worry about that. What you should worry instead is that they’ve hired someone new. A young lad. Full of energy or so I hear.”  
  
“Fuck, I hate those.”  
  
“Yeah. I thought it’d be best to warn you.”  
  
Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it, because the waitress came with their cheeseburgers. He didn’t much care for cheeseburgers, but it always made him hungry when he heard someone was trying to kill him. That was why he had gained a little weight lately, and also because there had been a lot going on on Netflix.  
  
“Arthur -,” Eames said and frowned. “Can I call you Arthur?”  
  
“It’s not my real name.”  
  
“Well, I know _that_. Anyway, how’s your current job going?”  
  
“Slowly,” Arthur said. Eames probably knew that already, since he had been following Arthur. “How’s yours?”  
  
“Not very well,” Eames said, glancing at him. He bit his lip. That was good news, since he was pretty sure Eames’ current job was Arthur’s assassination. “Where’re you going next?”  
  
Arthur almost laughed.  
  
“Because I think you should be careful,” Eames said. “I wouldn’t want this peppy young lad to shoot you in the face or anything.”  
  
“I’m sure he wouldn’t shoot me _in the face._ ”  
  
Eames grimaced. “You never know with them. I’ve seen him. From the distance, of course. But he looks like one of those people who think they should ask for things from the universe and the universe will listen.”  
  
“I think he’d still shoot me in the heart.”  
  
“I wouldn’t take any chances,” Eames said. “I bet he has a poster on the wall that says _live laugh love._  
  
“Awful.”  
  
“Yeah. Anyway, I should probably go. If my boss hears that I’ve been talking with you, he’s going to get a bit upset.” Eames stood up, took the hamburger from the plate and held it in his hand. “See you.”  
  
Arthur didn’t answer. Eames winked at him and then walked off the cafeteria, and he looked through the window while Eames got to the front seat of a blue Corolla and drove away.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The next time he saw Eames was two days later. He was trying to follow his target, but his target had stopped at the side of the road to make out with his lover. Arthur had pulled the car over on the hill where he had a nice view of the target’s car. He was waiting for the awkward blowjob be over when someone parked a car next to him. He checked that he had hidden his gun and then realized it was a blue Corolla.  
  
He took the gun, and Eames rolled down the window.  
  
“A pretty thing you have there,” Eames said, nodding at the gun. “And a good view. How was your day?”  
  
“Boring,” Arthur said, lowering the gun. “What the hell are you doing here, Eames?”  
  
“Well, technically,” Eames said slowly, “I am not doing my job. But I’m not worried about that. I’ve always thought that early retirement would be nice. I’m thirty-three now, by the way. And how old are you? There’s nothing but guesses on your file.”  
  
“Younger than thirty-three.”  
  
Eames snorted. “You can’t be much younger, darling. Not when you’re so good at your job. So, what do you think you’ll do when you retire?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Arthur said and took a deep breath. It had been a long day. And even though he would have never admitted it, he had been kind of waiting for the young peppy hitman to come and kill him. He just wished there wouldn’t be a conversation first.  
  
“But are you going to stay in the States? You must be from here originally, because your accent is flawless.” Eames smiled at him. “I’m from England.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.”  
  
“Really? How?”  
  
He snorted.  
  
“I didn’t think you were interested,” Eames said and then seemed to remember something. “Anyway, I came to tell you that I’ve distracted the young nuisance a little. It’s going to take him a couple of days to realize that I didn’t kill you after all and that he’s still got a job to do. If for some reason you might be willing to take some advice, I’d very much advice you to get the hell out of here.”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat. The obvious thing would have been to ask why Eames had done that for him. But he couldn’t imagine an answer that would have made any sense, so he decided to drop it. “I haven’t finished yet.”  
  
“Your target is right there,” Eames said, “and I’m pretty sure the lovely lady there is going to leave him tonight. He doesn’t seem very gentle. So, maybe tonight would be a good time to finish your job.”  
  
“I have to make it look like an accident.”  
  
“Well, I hear that you’re excellent,” Eames said and then glanced at his watch. “Shit, I need to go. There’s a good movie on the local channel tonight and I need to get a motel room before it starts. Good night, Arthur.”  
  
“Good night,” Arthur said and took the binoculars. Eames was probably right. His target didn’t seem to be very gentle with his girlfriend.  
  
  
**  
  
  
After Texas, he drove to Denver and spent two nights in a nice hotel with an air-conditioning and a large bathtub. He loaded all his guns and then drank more than he should have, but the peppy hitman didn’t come for him. The next day, he had his suits cleaned and his hair cut and even flirted a little with the barber. Then the barber asked him what he did for living and he told the man that he owned a flower shop. Afterwards, he felt uncomfortably dirty and spent the most of the evening in the bath, ate a lot of chocolate and jerked off with the soundtrack of Game of Thrones in the background. If he thought about Eames, it was by accident and only because Eames was very attractive and seemed to be flirting with him and also hadn’t killed him yet.  
  
The morning before he left, he called Cobb. At first, Cobb made him talk to Philippa and James, which was nice, but also he suspected Cobb was using the time to figure out what the hell to say to Arthur. When Arthur had finished the conversation about pink ponies and the rabbit that was rumored to live at the Cobbs’ backyard, he got Cobb back to the phone. Apparently there weren’t any news on who had ordered the hit on Arthur, although they both thought it had to be Cobol Engineering. That job had gone very badly. Also, Cobb didn’t have the next assignment ready for Arthur, and when Arthur asked if he had talked to his therapist lately, he said that Arthur could never understand what he was going through and then hang up.  
  
Arthur ate a little more chocolate after that. It was of course true that he didn’t have a fucking clue how Cobb felt. But Cobb was still his best friend and also had two kids who needed their father at least to try to deal with his grief.  
  
Arthur, however, needed something to do. If there hadn’t been at least one and very possibly two hitmen following him, he would’ve gone to visit his mother. But as things were, he bought hiking gear and spent a few nights on the mountains. In the third morning, there was another tent next to his and Eames was sitting by the fire, apparently trying to dry his shoes.  
  
“Good morning,” Eames said, glancing at him. “Who knew the nature would be so wet?”  
  
He went back to his tent and put on a bit more clothes.  
  
“You look different without your suit,” Eames said, when Arthur sat down by the fire next to him and started heating up the water for the coffee. “You didn’t have to dress up for me, though. I’ve seen naked men before.”  
  
“I wasn’t naked.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames said, “what a shame. Anyway, your peppy hitman thinks you went back to Los Angeles. I’m terribly afraid it’s not going to take him long to realize he’s mistaken, but we should have a few days before that happens.”  
  
“My mother’s in Los Angeles,” Arthur said and then bit his lip, but Eames didn’t seem surprised.  
  
“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure she’s safe. They only want you dead, no additional fuss.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
Eames rolled his eyes. “Because I have the same contract. Can I have some coffee?”  
  
“If you have something to put it in.”  
  
Eames took a mug from his backpack. It looked rusty. Arthur poured coffee in it and then they ate breakfast watching the clouds that were slowly moving over the mountains. It was a nice morning. Eames smelled of smoke and faintly of sweat. It probably should have been more worrying that it wasn’t an unpleasant smell. His arm was warm where it brushed against Arthur’s.  
  
“So,” Arthur said, when they had finished eating and Eames had put his shoes back on, “you’re supposed to kill me, then.”  
  
Eames frowned and stretched his legs. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I hope you aren’t upset.”  
  
“You haven’t done it, though.”  
  
“I’m waiting for the perfect opportunity.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Well, we could have dinner in some fancy restaurant.”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat. “What if I’m not interested?”  
  
Eames laughed.  
  
“Alright,” Arthur said, “but don’t you think it’d be a bit reckless of me, to have sex with a man who’s on a contract to kill me?”  
  
“Who said anything about sex?” Eames asked. “But since you asked, I’d very much like sex, thank you. After the dinner.”  
  
Arthur snorted.  
  
“Don’t underestimate me,” Eames said, “I’m very good in bed.” Then he blinked. “Well, I guess I’m averagely good. No one’s complained. Much. There’re a few things that some people find odd, for example, I like knees.”  
  
“Knees?”  
  
“Yeah.” Eames glanced at Arthur’s knees. “I’m sure yours are lovely.”  
  
“I’m glad I put my trousers on.”  
  
“Yeah, you should be, otherwise I’d be flirting at you already,” Eames said, rubbing the side of his nose. “Where’re you going to go from here, darling?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “I kind of want to visit my mother, but…”  
  
“But your hitman is in the city.” Eames was quiet for a moment. “Have you ever lived in LA.?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“So, you know the place? You know the best clubs and everything?”  
  
“I know some clubs.”  
  
“Great,” Eames said. “I have an idea. I’m going to distract your hitman so that you can visit your mother. And then you’re going to take me to a club as a thank you.”  
  
“What if you fail? I don’t want my mother to see when I get killed.”  
  
Eames snorted. “I never fail.”  
  
They hiked back to the parking lot together. Arthur told himself it made sense, since they were going to the same direction anyway.  
  
  
**  
  
  
  
Arthur was drinking coffee in his mother’s kitchen when Eames called him. He thought about asking how Eames had got his number and then decided against it.  
  
“Who’s that?” his mother asked, when he stood up from the table and said he was going to go outside to talk.  
  
“No one,” he said, and his mother smiled too happily.  
  
He went to the backyard. It was early in the evening and the sound of the traffic was nice and familiar. He took a deep breath.  
  
“It was surprisingly difficult,” Eames’ voice said to him. “I had to flirt with him, which was very unfortunate, because he’s just the way we thought, Arthur, he talks about things like _improving yourself_ and _being your best version._ But I did it for you, darling. Even though I’m terribly sorry to admit that I had to kiss him a few times. I didn’t sleep with him, though, so you can breathe now. Anyway, how’s your mother? Did she like the Paul Auster novel she’s reading for her book club?”  
  
“A book club?”  
  
Eames was quiet for a moment. “Anyway, are you free tonight?”  
  
“Are you sure you want to go to a club with me?” Arthur asked, sitting down on a bench that had been there for years and had been a little crooked all along. “I’m probably going to be boring company.”  
  
“I don’t think so, darling. But we can reschedule, if you’re tired. Or if you want to catch up with your mom.”  
  
“No, I’m alright,” Arthur said. “She’s already asking about my love life.”  
  
“Great,” Eames said. “Did you tell her about me?”  
  
Arthur bit his lip. “So, what kind of entertainment are you waiting for? Dancing? Drinking? A hook-up?”  
  
“I’m going to be with _you_ ,” Eames said, sounding slightly offended, “and I’m a gentleman. But dancing would be nice, thank you.”  
  
“I don’t dance.”  
  
“Then you can watch me.”  
  
Arthur took a deep breath. “So, where do you want to meet?”  
  
“I can come pick you up,” Eames said, “if that’s alright.”  
  
“If something happens to my mother –“  
  
“Nothing’s going to happen to your mother,” Eames said, “except that she’s going to delighted. All mothers love me, except for my own, of course. He wanted me to be a lawyer.”  
  
Arthur snorted.  
  
“I’ll be there at nine,” Eames said. “Wear something nice.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
When Eames came to Arthur’s mother’s house, he had flowers with him. He gave them to Arthur’s mother, introduced himself, then complimented on the house and agreed to drink tea before they would go out. By the time they got out of the house, Arthur was quite certain it would take years for his mother to forget about Eames.  
  
“That was so rude,” he said, when they were in the cab. “She’s going to be so sad when we don’t get married.”  
  
“Who made you think we aren’t going to get married?” Eames asked. “Did she tell you about the Paul Auster novel?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Did she like it?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I knew it,” Eames said, sounding smug. “I didn’t like it much myself. By the way, you look a lot like her. You have the same eyes.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Eames laughed. “Don’t be offended. I like your eyes, darling.”  
  
“Maybe you shouldn’t call me darling.”  
  
Eames glanced at him. He ignored it. When they had been drinking tea with his mother, for a second he had forgotten that it wasn’t real. Eames wasn’t his boyfriend who had come to meet his mother.  
  
“How about _babe?_ ” Eames asked in a quiet voice. “Or _honey?_ ”  
  
Arthur swallowed. He wanted to ask what would happen after this, but it was kind of obvious that it would be nothing good, so he kept his mouth shut. Besides, they were already at the club. He got out of the cab and Eames followed him.  
  
It took two beers until he realized he was smiling again. And when he started smiling, Eames shifted closer to him and placed a hand on his knee, lightly as if he was asking for permission. Arthur licked his lips and asked Eames where he had grown up, even though of course there was no way of knowing whether the story Eames told him was true or not. But he didn’t much care.  
  
Later, they danced a little. He reminded Eames that he wasn’t going to dance, but when he had been watching Eames on the dancefloor for some time, he found himself emptying his drink and following him. Eames smelled different than in Colorado, not so much of smoke and of cologne instead. But there was something familiar as well. He leaned closer to Eames and stumbled on his feet, and Eames put a hand on his lower back to steady him and left it there.  
  
He didn’t mean to take Eames home, but it was late and when he asked Eames where he was staying, Eames couldn’t remember his hotel’s name. So, they sneaked to the house, but it turned out Arthur’s mother was sitting in the kitchen, drinking hot chocolate and listening to a podcast about socialism. She looked very delighted about seeing Eames again.  
  
“We’re going to go to my room,” Arthur said, and then they went upstairs. He still had some posters on the walls that he had put there when he had been fifteen and they had moved to this house after the divorce. Looking at the posters, it was a bit difficult to understand why it had taken him four more years to realize he was gay. All the posters had half-naked men in them.  
  
“Interesting,” Eames said, frowning at one of the posters. “I hope this isn’t what you expect of me. Because let me tell you, I don’t have much time to go to gym.”  
  
“Shut up,” Arthur said. “Do you want to take a shower?”  
  
“Well,” Eames said, turning to look at him. “Do I need a shower?”  
  
Arthur swallowed.  
  
“Have you decided yet where I’m going to sleep? Because your bed seems big enough, but I’d understand if you put me on the floor.”  
  
“You would?”  
  
“Well,” Eames said, “if you take me to your bed, there’s a good chance that I’m going to try to kiss you. So, if you don’t want that, the floor might be the safest place for me.”  
  
“I’m not going to have you sleeping on the floor,” Arthur said. “My mother would kill me. Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex.”  
  
“Alright,” Eames said, walked to Arthur’s bed and sat down. “What kind of sex do you like? I already told you I like knees.”  
  
“I’m not picky.”  
  
Eames bit his lip.  
  
“Really.”  
  
“Darling,” Eames said slowly, “I bet that you’re picky as hell. You look picky. And that’s fine. I should probably mention that I like you a lot. Just in case that wasn’t clear. I like you a lot and you get to be a bit picky. And then we’ll negotiate.”  
  
“I’m really not –“  
  
“ _Really?_ ” Eames cut in. “Just forget for a second that you haven’t got laid in a while. Think that I’m a sure thing. Or think that we’ve been together for a while. What would you like?”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat. “What’re you going to do with my knees?”  
  
“Well, I guess I’m going to end up licking them,” Eames said, “if you let me, of course. Nothing worse. I’m not weird or anything.” And he winked at Arthur.  
  
“I don’t like giving blowjobs,” Arthur said, took a deep breath and then sat down on the bed next to Eames. “I’ve got some bad experiences.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“Sorry about that.”  
  
“Don’t apologize,” Eames said, placed his hand on the back of Arthur’s neck and drew circles with his fingertips. “So, I’m just going to ask. What about fucking me? Because I’d like that, if that’s your kind of a thing.”  
  
Arthur nodded.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. If you really –“  
  
“Yeah,” Eames said, “ _yes_ , I really. Are you going to take a shower with me?”  
  
They kissed in the shower. Arthur stopped the water from running and Eames held him against the wall, pushing his knee in between Arthur’s thighs, his hands on Arthur’s face, careful but intent. Arthur wished his mother wouldn’t hear them, but it was difficult to focus on anything else when he had Eames’ tongue in his mouth and Eames’ cock pressing against the crook of his thigh. He wrapped his arms around Eames’ shoulders and let Eames mumble things that didn’t make sense.  
  
He meant to fuck Eames but didn’t get that far. Eames had him lying on his back on the bed and kissed and bit his legs from his ankles to his thighs, then grabbed his hips and took his cock in his mouth. He tried to tell Eames that he was about to come, but it happened so quickly and his head was soft with beer and he couldn’t think about anything else except that there was another human in the bed with him, and that Captain Jack Sparrow was staring at him from the ceiling. He pushed his fingers into Eames’ hair and came in Eames’ mouth and apologized about it afterwards, but there was no way he was going to get hard again that night. He jerked Eames off and Eames kept kissing his throat and stroking his side and didn’t look too disappointed.  
  
In the morning, Arthur realized he had shared his old bed with a dangerous hitman and that the said hitman had his arm wrapped around Arthur’s waist and his half-hard cock pushed against Arthur’s ass. He woke Eames up and they went to brush their teeth and then kissed a little at the sink, and then they went for breakfast. Arthur’s mother had definitely heard something, but she only talked about socialism, so it was alright. And then Eames said he had to go, kissed Arthur on the doorway and drove away with his blue Corolla.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Arthur called Cobb and talked with Philippa, who couldn’t understand why she didn’t have a pony and why her dad sometimes cried when he thought she was sleeping. Arthur told her adults could be sad, too, and that her father missed her mother. Later that evening, Cobb called him and cried in the phone, and then they talked about Mal and Arthur almost cried, too. He also asked Cobb what he was going to do about the fact that Cobol Engineering was trying to get Arthur killed, but Cobb was still in the middle of a process of trying to get himself to go to therapy, so it seemed pretty obvious Arthur was going to have to solve the problem by himself.  
  
He stayed home for two days and then took a flight to New York. He had a small flat there. He had bought it after he had first been renting it for years while he had been in the college. It was a single-room apartment with tiny windows and a bathroom so small his knees hit the sink when he was sitting in the toilet. He stayed up too late in the evening, trying to think about what he was going to do with his life, and then the neighbors upstairs started a loud argument. He slept for a few hours and in the morning, Eames was behind his door.  
  
“Hi,” Eames said. “Can I come in?”  
  
Arthur nodded. They went to the kitchen, which was a small round table next to the window. He made coffee and then realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt, but then again, Eames had already seen him naked.  
  
“How’s your hitman?” Eames asked. “Have you seen him yet?”  
  
Arthur shook his head. “But I asked around a little. They say he’s very discreet.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames said and grimaced. “I’ve been trying to track him, but I’m not exactly sure where he’s at the moment.”  
  
“Could be in New York.”  
  
“Yeah.” Eames poured himself more coffee. “We could probably take him out together.”  
  
“He’s working for your boss.”  
  
Eames shrugged.  
  
“I thought about ordering a hit on him,” Arthur said, “but that’s too expensive, and also they’d just send someone else after him. And I’m kind of tired of this.”  
  
“Can’t Cobb figure it out?”  
  
“He’s a wreck,” Arthur said, “I wouldn’t trust him to deal with this even if he said he could do it.”  
  
“And you aren’t on a job now?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Eames watched him over the cup of coffee. “You should quit.”  
  
“I can’t just quit.”  
  
“I’ve been thinking about going back to England,” Eames said. “We could stay in London.”  
  
“We?”  
  
“Yeah. I’ve got a plan. First, I’ll kill you –“  
  
Arthur laughed.  
  
“Not for real,” Eames said, sounding a little offended. “I’ll let them think that I’ve killed you. Then I’ll quit my job. We’ll get you a new identity and then we’ll go to England. Everyone will be happy, including your mom, because eventually we’ll get married and she’ll like that.”  
  
“She’s been waiting for me to bring a nice guy to home,” Arthur said.  
  
“I can be your nice guy.”  
  
“You don’t even know my name.”  
  
“That’s just details.”  
  
“What am I going to do in England?”  
  
“Anything you like,” Eames said, crossing his legs. “What’re you going to do if you get killed?”  
  
Arthur bit his lip. “A good point. But what if we break up?”  
  
“And you’re stuck in England? That’d be very unfortunate. But you’d be alive. Trust me, there’s plenty of good-looking men in England. Not as good-looking as me, though.” Eames smiled at him. “When did we decide that we’re together?”  
  
“I’d say,” Arthur said slowly, “when you brought flowers to my mom.”  
  
“ _I’d_ say,” Eames said, “when you shared your coffee with me in the camping side in Colorado.”  
  
“You should’ve brought your own coffee,” Arthur said. “Eames?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Why did you slip me that note? In Texas?”  
  
“I thought you were cute,” Eames said, “of course. And I hadn’t had much luck on Tinder.”  
  
“Tinder is for straight people. You should try Grindr.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames said slowly, “no, I don’t think I’m going to try anything from now on. I think I’m going to be shagging you.”  
  
“You’re very confident,” Arthur said. “Anyway, I think we should do it.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Your plan. It makes sense. I just need to tell my mother.”  
  
“Of course,” Eames said. He was looking at Arthur as if he didn’t quite believe that Arthur had agreed to move to England with him.  
  
“So, when are we going to do it? When are you going to kill me?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Eames said, “we’re going to need some time to plan. How about Thursday night?”  
  
“Sounds good,” Arthur said.  
  
Eames smiled at him. “It’s a date, then.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m going to bring you flowers.”  
  
“Don’t,” Arthur said, “it’s going to look suspicious.”  
  
“For your funeral.”  
  
“Well, that makes a bit more sense.”  
  
“Anyway, what’re you going to do today? I think we should stay here. It’s going to look odd if we go on a date on Monday and I murder you on Thursday.”  
  
“Depends on how the date goes,” Arthur said. “But we can stay in. You can tell me about England. I hear it rains a lot in there.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
Arthur’s murder went quite well. Afterwards, he sent a text to his mother saying that he was fine and took a plane to England, where it was raining. He was a bit sad that he’d have to give up the flat in New York, and that it would be a while until he could see Cobb’s kids again. They were going through a rough time. But at least Cobb had promised to finally go to therapy, so things were looking a little better. Cobb hadn’t been surprised when Arthur had told him he wanted to fake his own murder, quit his job, get a new identity and move to England, but it shocked Cobb a bit when Arthur told him he had a boyfriend now. Apparently Cobb hadn’t realized he was gay, which was odd, because Arthur had once tried to kiss him when they both had been terribly drunk.  
  
He spent a few nights in the hotel, learning the details of his new identity. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he was kind of excited about the idea that he could pick a job that didn’t involve killing people.  
  
Eames came to England two days later. By then, Arthur had cut his hair and bought new clothes and worked on a new accent. He also had another name, but he supposed Eames was still going to call him Arthur. It was raining, he was still in the hotel room and Cobb was sending him ideas for his fake funeral. For some reason organizing it seemed to be therapeutic for Cobb.  
  
“Hello,” Eames said, standing at the door. He was smiling widely and holding a bunch of flowers.  
  
“Hello,” Arthur said and let him in.


End file.
